


A Drabble a Day/ Harry Potter Fandom

by KrumPuffer



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Best Friends, Character Death, Drabble, Drabble Collection, F/M, Falling In Love, First Love, Fluff, George Weasley Needs a Hug, Hugs, Kissing, Love, Marriage, Married Life, One Shot, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-War, Sad, Shorts, Smile, Yule Ball (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:02:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29144154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrumPuffer/pseuds/KrumPuffer
Summary: This is a series of drabbles.  I will post a new one every day in February, each drabble will be based on a different word prompt.
Relationships: Angelina Johnson/George Weasley, Arthur Weasley/Molly Weasley, Fleur Delacour/Ron Weasley, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter/Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Viktor Krum, Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood, Severus Snape/Nymphadora Tonks
Comments: 11
Kudos: 28





	1. Compassion, not to be confused with Pity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angelina comes to George to comfort him after Fred's death, will he finally let her in?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a series of drabbles. I will post a new one every day in February, each drabble will be based off a different word. The word for this one is compassion. Enjoy!

“George, open the door you one-eared wanker. It’s been three weeks. Open up! You can’t hide forever.” Angelina shouted as she nearly pounded in the door to the flat that sat above Weasleys Wizard Wheezes. 

Resting her forehead against the warm wood of the sun heated door, she felt this might be the closest she would ever get to George Weasley again. Tears began to form, hot like the summer day, and wet like its humidity. 

It _had_ been three weeks since the funeral of Fred Weasley, and while three weeks seemed like a good amount of time to let someone mourn, she knew that the bond between twins, between Fred and George Weasley was something no outsider looking in could understand.

But the thing was, she was mourning too, to a degree. She had lost a Weasley too in the war, she had lost George, and she wasn’t so sure she would ever get him back if he wouldn’t open the door and let her love him, hold him, kiss him, and try her darndest to make him smile. 

She didn’t fight back the tears this time, she had had enough with being strong, and for what? A door shut on her, locking her out and away from the one person she needed to be near after the war had ended, the one person she had left in her life. She let the tears fall, drying in the summer heat before they even hit the ground.

“George, I have been here every day, begging you to let me comfort you, but today, I’m here begging you to comfort me. I love you, and I hope that you…”

The door swung open, leaving Angelina to stumble forward into the arms of him, of George, her George. 

His arms wrapped around her in a frantic, tight embrace—he stunk, but she didn’t care, she let her body melt into his, and despite being here to comfort him, she began to weep—and he did too.

“I’m so sorry Ang, I’m so sorry. I know, I know,” he said, kissing the top of her head, “I should have opened the door, I should have told you to your face I wasn’t ready to see you.”

They sobbed, so many days between the last time they had seen each other happy. So many weeks since life was carefree. So many months since they danced at yule balls, and tested new jokes, and drank too much mead with Fred by their side, Fred their ever happy third wheel.

“I came every day.” She managed into his chest, his shirt soaked with her tears, her sweat, her snot.

“I know Ang. I wanted to let you in every day. I fought my demons. I ached to be near you, but I couldn’t—I wouldn’t be pitied.”

She pulled her head from his chest, wiping the blurring tears in her eyes, “Pity? I don’t pity you, George, I love you. I wanted to be there for you. I had nothing but compassion for you. You lost your brother, I lost one of my best friends, but I lost _you_ , too. I wanted nothing more than to fall into your arms, or have you fall into mine, and just fucking be sad, or mad or whatever the hell it was we were feeling, but _together_.”

“I thought everyone would pity me. I don’t want to be pitied, Ang.”

“I know George, I know.” She said, taking him into her arms now.

Who was comforting who here?

The war did that, drew hard lines. Made normal conversations hard. There were gaps in family trees, mothers without fathers to help raise their children, there were fathers, who lost all their sons, lovers were left heartbroken, friends were left stunned. 

Angelina held her breath as he finally let go, she felt the sag of his shoulders, the weight of him on her. She rubbed his back, his familiar back, a back that before the war she would lay in bed, tracing the words of their favourite love songs with her wand on after a long day at the shop, after a long night of intimacy. What she wouldn’t give to go back to the days where love flowed carefreely, where they had to hush their moans for fear of Fred hearing, where life wasn’t so broken.

But she was here.

And he was allowing her to be here.

And together she knew they could pick up their pieces and find a way to put them back together again, not whole, but an abstract version of what their lives could look like together, again.

“George, I missed you.” She whispered.

“I swear Ang, I was always right here.” He words guilt-laden, his sobs slowing.

“George?”

“Yeah, Ang?”

She kissed this ginger speckled ear, the only one he had remaining, “You smell like a pig’s ass.”

George began to laugh, pulling away from her he lifted his arm to take a whiff of his pits, dramatically fanning away the stench, his face making out like he was gagging.

He was joking.

Once piece at a time.

“I should shower,” George said.

“You should have showered days ago from the smell of it.”

He closed in on her, and before she could ready herself, he started rubbing his arms and armpits all over her, holding her in a bear hug as she laughed and fought him off.

“There,” he said, kissing her forehead gently, “Now you need a shower too.”

She slowly brought her lips to his, and kissed him gently, the first kiss of many she would give him until they were back to where they should be.

“I guess I do.” She said.

George took Angelina--his Hogwarts sweetheart, his first and last love, his best friend, and the only woman he knew that measured up to his mum--by the hand and lead her to the shower where they undressed each other as if undressing the wounds of the past, letting them fall to the floor. They stepped under the warm spray, sharing the water, sharing the small space, and washing away the days apart in the small, steam-filled room.


	2. Smile, ya broody Bloke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione Granger finds Viktor Krum broody and his fan club annoying, so what could he possibly want when she finds him standing over her desk at the library?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a series of drabbles. I will post a new one every day in February, each drabble will be based off a different word. The word for this one is smile. Enjoy!

She sat at the very back of the library, it was dark, and hard to see if you didn’t use your wand for extra light the entire time. It wasn’t her favourite spot to study, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Anything to be away from Viktor Krum and his fan club of idiots. 

Sure, Hermione Granger had been all about international magical cooperation and the uniting of Beauxbatons School of Magic and Durmstrang Institute with the Triwizard Tournament. What she didn’t sign on for was Krum’s fan club following him around the library and _him_ following her around the library, ending in all of them interrupting her study time.

It was rather annoying…even if he was handsome—which he hardly was.

He was broody and his nose was a rather large, and when he walked, his big boots clunked around creating even more noise, but also alarming her anytime he was close.

And he was close.

Hermione looked up to see the all-so-famous Viktor Krum standing over her table at the back of the library taking up what was left of the light. He glanced over his shoulder nervously, then back at her.

Her annoyance level was teetering on explosive snapdragons and _Okay, maybe he was handsome despite the whole, rather large nose thing._

With the rise of an eyebrow and the slamming of her quill, she asked, “Can I help you?”

He took that as an invite and took the seat across from her, slamming the chair back, and sitting rather forcefully.

Viktor Krum had the grace of an elephant--when he wasn’t on his broom, she couldn’t deny he was quite remarkable when he flew.

“Yes, I have come to do two things.” He said quietly, his accent strong, and she denied allowing herself to find it attractive because she refused to swoon over him like the rest of the witch population at Hogwarts.

“Well, I hope you do it quickly. I have studying to do and it's only a matter of time before your giggling baboons find you and start laughing at whatever it is they find so funny about you.”

He looked over his shoulder again, like he was being hunted. Hermione tried and failed to hold back a smile. Despite how annoyed this all made her, she couldn’t help but find it hilarious how nervous and scared Viktor looked.

“They vont leave me alone. I come to library to read, and prepare for my task, and there they are, like _poof_ ,” he said, making a little explosion gesture with his hands, “They find me, it is driving me mad. They vill not go avay.”

“Yes, I am very aware, as you seem to always study right next to _me_. It is very distracting.”

He glanced around again, no sign of the fan club, he went on, “I am here to say that I find you to be most interesting.”

Hermione instantly flushed; this was not what she had expected him to say. She had been gearing up since he arrived to tell him that no she would _not_ help him or give him insight on Harry Potter.

When she didn’t say anything he continued, “So, I came to say I am sorry for the--how did you put it, laughing monkeys?”

Hermione chuckled at this and allowed herself--just for now--to find his accent adorable.

“Giggling baboons, but, close enough.” She corrected.

“Yes, I am most sorry for the giggling baboons. I have tried to study somevhere else, but, I can't stay avay from you.” He said admittedly.

Hermione once again found herself at a loss for words in his presence, which went against everything she stood for as a woman.

“I also came to ask if you know of this ball, they call it the Yule Ball, no?”

Hemione felt a sudden heat at the mention of the ball--by Viktor Krum--to her. Surely she would end up going with Ronald, once he wised up and asked her, not Viktor Krum the Bulgarian bon-bon.

“Yes, I know of the Yule Ball, what of it?” she asked.

He straightened his posture, and his face grew serious, _more_ serious, considering it was always bloody serious. 

“I, Viktor Krum, have come to ask you Hermioninee, to attend the ball vith me?” he asked.

Hermione was taken aback. _Her_ , going to the Yule Ball with _the_ Viktor Krum? She needed to clean her ears out tonight.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch the last part,” she said, watching as his cheeks grew flushed.

“I am sorry, my English is not great.”

“No, it’s not you, I just, had this thing, in my ear, just this thing, I’m sorry, what?” she fumbled.

He sat up straight again and cleared his throat, and she found it absolutely chivalrous and cute this time, knowing what he was going to say.

“I, Viktor Krum, vould like you, Hermeeionee, to come to the ball vith me.”

Hermione glanced around, making sure no one was watching, making sure this wasn’t some sort of cruel joke.

“You want _me_ , to come to the ball with _you_?” she asked incredulously.

“Yes, it vould be an honour.”

“But, all the other girls, they’ve been following you around for weeks, what about them?”

“It is true, they follow me around, but Hermioninee, it is _you_ I follow. You are smart and beautiful, and you do not seem to care that I am vorld famous Quidditch player.”

She let out a sigh, Viktor Krum thought she was beautiful, he thought she was _smart_!

“Yes. Absolutely. I would love to accompany you to the ball.” She said, not entirely sure she hadn’t fallen asleep on a pile of books, and this was all just a dream.

“That makes me most pleased.” He said, although his face showed no signs of joy.

Hermione smiled at him, and he just nodded his head in approval.

“You could at least smile Viktor, I just said yes to going to the Yule Ball with you.”

Viktor cocked an eyebrow at her, “I do not smile, I am Bulgarian.”

“Suit yourself then, but I do think you would look rather handsome if you weren’t brooding around all the time.” She said, then picked up her quill and got back to work, because Viktor Krum or not, she had studying to do.

“Can I join vith you at this table?” he asked.

And when she looked up to tell him yes, he had the most impeccably striking smile on his broody Bulgarian face.


	3. Young Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron is ready to ask a special someone to the Yule ball, will this leave Harry to regret encouraging him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a series of drabbles. I will post a new one every day in February, each drabble will be based off a different word. The word for this one is lovesturck. Enjoy!

“I think I love her Harry,” Ron said dreamily as laid with his body on the top of his bed, legs up along the wall.

He looked like a lovesick teenager, with no idea what to do with his time, his mind or his body. He had it bad and Harry should have seen this coming.

“I know, I can tell. You have been acting odd all week.”

“I got it bad mate. She’s just so beautiful. I see her face and her hair and the way she walks around all confident like. I feel like I got punched in the gut every time I see her.”

Harry didn’t feel the same as Ron did about Hermione, obviously, he thought Hermione was pretty, but she was his best friend, and almost like a sister to him, so it was hard to see past that. And if he was being honest, he didn’t think Hermione’s hair was anything to brag about, she could use a spell or two to tame it, but he would never say that to Ron.

“I guess I should have seen this coming,” Harry said, pulling out his potions book to start on the project he had due with Snape by the end of the week.

“Yeah, me too, but it really blindsided me, ya know. Like, one day she wasn’t here, and then she was, and I just fell hard.”

Harry knew that feeling all too well; he had been playing quidditch against Cho for years now and it wasn’t until this year that he noticed just how beautiful she was. 

“I know mate. So, what do you think you are going to do about it?” Harry asked, a little worried about it all really. He knew there was something between Ron and Hermione, he just always hoped that maybe nothing would come of it. What happens if they don’t work out, what happens if they start dating and then realize they don’t work well as a couple, what happens if the break up is ugly? The past few weeks Harry had had to endure the constant fighting and silent treatment the two had been giving each other, what if it got worse? 

“I think I’m going to ask her to the Yule Ball,” Ron said.

“I think she would love that.”

“Do you think anyone’s asked her yet? I bet there are loads of guys lining up to take her.”

Harry thought about this. Had he missed something? He knew Hermione was pretty well-liked among the Gryffindors, as she often got them house points for her book smarts in class, and she was always willing to help classmates out with assignments, but she was, well, Hermione.

“It couldn’t hurt to try. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? She says no, or she has a date?”

Ron sat up, “Right? You’re absolutely right mate.” He got off the bed, straightened his dishevelled hair and headed for the door.

“You’re going now, like _now,_ now?” Harry asked.

“Yes. Now. Now or I might lose my nerve.”

“Good luck.” Harry hollered after him and decided this might be the end of the trios _mostly_ perfect friendship.

24 minutes later—

Harry heard a commotion from the common room and hurried to find Ron, surrounded by Ginny, Hermione and Neville, his skin was pale and his eyes shotty.

“What happened?” Harry asked Hermione, wondering what she could have said when he asked her to the Yule Ball to make Ron look like a ghost.

“He asked Fleur to the Yule Ball.” She said, with no sign of disbelief.

Harry stood there, replaying his conversation mere minutes ago with his best mate. He had never asked Ron if it was Hermione that he was so in love with, only assumed, and now, it all made sense; her hair, she wasn’t here and now she is, thinking she would have a line of guys asking her to the ball…it all made sense. He wasn’t talking about Hermione at all. 

Harry went to his best friend, and shook him by the shoulders, “Fleur? Really Ron?”

Ron looked at his best friend, “You said…”

“I thought you were,” Harry lowered his voice and leaned to whisper into Ron’s ear, “I thought you were talking about Hermione.”

Ron looked over at Hermione who was currently replaying the humiliating moment with Lavender Brown and Dean Thomas, “No, but now that you mention it, do you think she would go to the Yule ball with me? It’s not the worst idea.” Ron said and Harry only shook his head wishing he had never even mentioned it.


	4. All Hearts that beat, are not life giving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Snape tell Tonks to piss off, or will he let her see a glimpse of his pain?
> 
> This is a series of drabbles. I will post a new one every day in February, each drabble will be based off a different word. The word for this one is heart. Enjoy!

Nymphadora Tonks had taken on the role as the sort of ‘Class Clown’ with the Order of the Phoenix. It wasn’t the easiest group of blokes to be around, considering, so she took it upon herself to try and make people smile—even Severus Snape.

She would stop at nothing to see a grin on his normally hard lipped frowning mouth, and most times she failed, with it ending in him storming off annoyed by her presence. But on the rare occasion, she had succeeded, she couldn’t help but wonder if, under the serious, brooding face and intimidating demeanour was a man, capable of a smile more often.

So, tonight was unlike any other night. She found Severus in the study at Grimmauld Place, hunched over a stack of paper, Order stuff, mixed with Hogwarts stuff, mixed with Dark Lord stuff, and while she never once thought Severus had it easy, she noticed a different kind of sadness to him.

“Alright there Sevy?” she asked, tapping on the door frame to announce herself.

“Fine, and don’t call me Sevy.” He said, without looking up from the parchment he was reading.

“Anything I can do for you?” she asked, knowing his answer, Snapes worries were bigger than the Order, they were the kind of worries you couldn’t unload on anyone, the kind of worries you had to keep to yourself until you got rid of them, or died.

He read a bit longer, making her wait for his response. She didn’t mind, Snape did this often to her, made her wait as if her time didn’t matter. If anyone else did this to her, it might bother her, but despite her life actually being pretty good considering they were balls deep in a war against Voldemort, she felt for Snape. She didn’t know everything, but she knew enough to show him kindness, even when he didn’t deserve it because he was an ass hole twat most of the time.

“Why do you ask questions you already know the answer to?” he said.

“Why do you look so sad?” she pried, knowing he wouldn’t tell her, knowing she would only piss him off.

“Why are you so nosey?” he asked.

“Why do you answer questions with questions.”

There was a silence between them, and just when she thought he was going to go back to ignoring her or tell her to fuck off he brought both hands to his head and rubbed his palms into his eye sockets as if he were trying to rub away his troubles.

“The thing is Nympahdora…”

“Tonks—its Tonks.”

“If you can call me Sevy without me cursing you, I can call you by your birth name. Now, as I was saying Nym-pha-dora, you understand I am heavily burdened with things unknown to you, yes?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered.

“Well, Nymphadora, on top off all of my duties that I render, to both the good and the bad, I am also struck with grief today, as it is the day, I lost someone dear to me.”

“Oh, Sevy, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it.” She said quickly.

“Of course not, its only one of the most famous days in wizard history, the day the Potters were killed and the boy who lived, was born,” he said sarcastically.

“Losing her must have broken your heart.”

“No, killing her did.”

Tonks took his words in, let them resonate deep in her bones. She knew Snape didn’t kill Lilly and James Potter, but he might as well have. She felt so much for him at this moment, she wished could carry just an ounce of the weight he carried, even if just for a moment, but he would never let her, or anyone else for that matter. Severus Snape would wear his misery like a badge, he would endure it for the extent of his existence, and she knew he would consider it a form of penance. 

She wished she could tell him all his did for Dumbledore was enough, all he did for the Order, it was enough, he didn’t have to suffer. But she also knew that just because Severus Snape had a beating heart like every other man and woman living, didn’t mean his was in working order. 

Snape would suffer in silence and take his secrets to the grave. 

Until then, Nymphadora would try, and mostly fail, to make him smile. 


	5. A Fire that Never Goes Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly and Arthur's love is one for the books.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a series of drabbles. I will post a new one every day in February, each drabble will be based off a different word. The word for this one is Flame. Enjoy!

It was the shotgun wedding of two gingers in the midst of war. No one thought it would last. But here they were, another war survived, seven children—six living, a burrow to call home, and while one had less hair on their head and one had more weight on their tummy, they were still completely and madly in love.  
Arthur still worshipped her body like he did the night he took her to their marriage bed. Molly still kissed his balding head, like she did when it was full of vibrant red.  
They had defeated the odds. They had proved everyone—their parents included—wrong, their marriage was strong and their love undefeated, unlike the Dark Lord that tried—and failed—so many times to tear them apart.  
Molly hung the towel on the drying wrack, the kitchen all cleaned up for the night, while Arthur hung his robe, his ministry works all done for the day, and the met each other half-way--directly in the middle of their empty nest.  
And while the house was far quieter than it had been over the thirty-some years, that didn’t mean it would stay that way.  
Arthur took Molly’s hand into his and kissed it ever so gently.  
“Hello, Molly wobbles,” he said, calling her by the name he gave her all those years ago.  
“Hello, dear.” She said back.  
“Shall we go?” he asked.  
“Yes,” she replied.  
He led her to their bed and took his time loving her.  
For the love story of Arthur and Molly Weasley, is the story of a flame that will never go out.


	6. Bro Code

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny and Harry, word for this fic is Attractive.

Harry Potter did not have a long list of girls he dated. In fact, he had only ever really had feelings for one girl, Cho Chang. He liked that she was quiet and good on her broom. But that came and went quicker than a DA teacher at Hogwarts.

Sure, Harry had lots of girls that wanted to date him, and he wasn’t so sure it was because he was a cool bloke, or good looking, or funny; he was pretty sure it was because he was Harry Potter, and that was off-putting to him. Besides, he had enough going on in his life, he didn’t need to add any more drama to it—or at least he hadn’t intended to.

The thing was, Harry grew up around Ginny Weasley. He watched her go from being Ron’s shy sister to being a strong, hilarious, feisty, amazing quidditch player, and well, he found her to be quite attractive. 

He didn’t just think, _Oh, wow, Ginny sure is pretty,_ no, it wasn’t that simple, when he thought of Ginny her thought of his fingers in her long red hair. He thought of riding along, side by side on their brooms, chatting and laughing under the nights' sky. He thought about lacing his fingers between hers as they walked out to the quidditch pitch. He thought about dark corridors with her—he thought about what he would do in dark corridors _with_ her.

He knew nothing would come of it. Nothing _could_ come of it. She was Ron’s sister, and completely off-limits. He would often remind himself of how Ron reacted when they had caught Ginny and Dean Thomas snogging, and then he would insert himself into the scenario, where _he_ was the one kissing Ginny, and Ron catching _them_ —it was scary really.

So Harry kept it to himself—this newfound attraction to his best mates younger sister. He decided to push it as far back in his brain as he could because even if Ron wouldn’t mind, he was certain there was some kind of rule against dating your best mates’ sister.


	7. A Yule Gentleman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cho/Cedric, the word prompt is **Gentleman**

Cho Change looked herself over one last time before she headed to the corridor that led to the great hall, where she was to meet Cedric Diggory who would escort her as his date and his _girlfriend_ , to the Yule Ball. She felt beautiful, and confident and overwhelmed by how quickly Cedric had managed to take her from feeling like a little girl with a crush to a mature young lady who was falling hard and fast for the absolute, most perfect gentleman she had ever met.

She couldn’t help but think back to who she initially wanted to go to the Yule Ball with, it made her laugh now, the thought of it, her, and Harry Potter. He was younger and now that she was dating Cedric, she saw Harry’s immaturities all too well. 

Heading down the corridor in her satin dress, her hair pulled back off her neck, left her feeling exposed--or _more_ exposed than she was used too. Cho considered herself modest and simple, her hair long and thick was always worn down, and the thought of Cedric seeing the skin of her neck, her ears, the soft skin of her jawline, made her stomach flutter with a newfound excitement she couldn’t quite place. 

She glanced around the corridor, it was busy, full of students who too, thought it a good place to meet up before the ball. She stood on tiptoes, searching for the only face that mattered to her tonight, and then she saw him, Cedric Diggory, standing tall and proud, like a knight come to rescue his damsel in a fairy tale.

They rushed to each other once eye connection was made. She couldn’t wait to see him in full, dressed in dressing robes. She also couldn’t wait for him to see her, in her silver, East Asian inspired robes. 

“Cho, you look stunning.” He said, taking her hands in his, his eyes scanning her from head to toe, his eyes sparkling in awe of her beauty.

“Thank you, Cedric, and you, most handsome.”

“May I kiss your cheek?” he asked.

“You may.” She said, with a girlish giggle.

He leaned in and slowly kissed her cheek. She could feel the heat of it all rise, painting her porcelain cheeks rosy.

He pulled away, his breath hitched, “I like your hair like this, I’ve never seen it pulled up.”

She felt a sense of accomplishment that he had noticed, she felt a sense of fluttering in her stomach at the mention of it, she felt it low in her body, like heat and pulse at the idea of Cedric taking notice.

“It is a traditional style, I watched my mother do her hair like this for many formal occasions. This is my first time attempting it.” She said, suddenly feeling shy.

Cedric reached out and ran this thumb gently along her hairline, goose flesh instantly covering her body, she felt an ache at his touch. So many new emotions, so many new sensations, it was thrilling.

Is this what young love felt like, she wondered.

“Well, you did an amazing job, must thank your mum for being such a great teacher,” he stood back and held out his arm, “Shall we?” he asked.

“We shall,” she said, and he led the way to line up with the rest of the champions. She felt eyes on her and felt her head tilt up higher with pride and the help of a little adrenaline boost. She was at the Yule Ball with the most handsome gentleman at Hogwarts, and she couldn’t be happier.


	8. Yours, Under the same Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neville/Luna, word prompt is, yours.

Neville gripped the pale pink parchment between clammy fingers. His hands were a sure sign of anger and anxiety. His knuckles white. A bead of sweat rolled down the tip of his long nose and lingered there for what seemed like time teetering between an eternity and a drip of perspiration. 

He studied the handwriting, it was so like her, everything about her was always unapologetically _like her_. The glittery purple ink, the little swirls she added at the end of certain letters, the stars and moons drawn in the corner of the paper, the smell of candy that lingered on the pages. 

Luna Lovegood was the only person alive that could leave a letter baring this sort of news, and still manage to make you smile through your hurt. And even though his stomach hollowed out and his lungs were stripped of their air when he read the first line, he couldn’t help but laugh—at himself, at her, at the whole situation. He should have known it would end like this. It was Luna after all, and some wildflowers can’t be put in a vase on a table when they were meant to cover the hillsides free.

He glanced around the empty apartment and he could swear the sound of his pounding heart echoed. They hadn’t even spent a single night here. The rooms were bare, and freshly cleaned, the smell of muggle detergents filled the air and suddenly made him feel extremely claustrophobic in such an empty space. 

His dropped the letter, it floated airily to the ground, as if embodying its author, as if falling without worry—as Luna would.

His hands gripped at his chest, and his heart and his lungs.

“I can’t…breath…” he said, to know one. 

He lunged for the window and pulled the shutters open, sucking in air, gasping to catch his breath. With hands gripping the window ledge he steadied himself. 

“Deep breaths,” he said—inhale, exhale.

He slowly walked back to the pink parchment, it looked much brighter and cheerier against the dark slats of hardwood floor. He lowered himself beside the letter, his body taking the posture of a younger version of himself—insecure, with feelings of being useless and undesirable. He began to re-read.

_Dear Neville,_

_I’m sure by now you are sitting on the hardwood floor, it was your favourite feature after all. I can see it in my head perfectly, your legs are crisscross, and your posture is awful. You will have read this letter once and let yourself be angry. You will have read this letter again and let yourself mourn. But when you get to round three of this letter, I want you to let yourself be free._

_I want you to know you are the only reason I ever wanted to stay—anywhere—ever, for any period of time. I have always needed to roam free, but you found me right on time, right when I felt like I had run out of my own passions. You found me when I feared I had nothing left._

_Neville, I am certain I loved you before I knew you, and I will love you long after I don’t._

_As I sat on my suitcase, in our very drafty, seemingly perfect apartment, with walls that I strongly believed were too white, my heart began to race and I felt the need to go, to move on, and oddly enough by bags were already packed. So, I stood up, took my suitcase in hand, and left. And while it was only our place for a day, and we hadn’t even spent a single night in it, it was the most I felt at home since my father passed away._

_I will forever be thanking you for this gift, the gift of a home, even if only for the time it took the wakspurts to settle._

_I think now is when you might start to lose your wits._

_Please don’t._

_Please don’t change your plans for me, as I did not even bat an eye at going where my heart is leading me to be._

_I want you to stay. I want you to rebuild the Quibbler without me. You have my blessing; you have my fathers blessing through me and you are the only person I entrust this to._

_I bid you farewell, my sweet love. My Neville. You are the one who taught me to smile again. And now I must leave you so I can continue to smile. I must let my heart take me to where it longs to be. I don’t know where that is yet, but I take this address with me so I can always have you near, and in return, I leave a little piece of my heart, for you, so that you will always feel love._

_I really want to say, you’re the reason I want to stay._

_But destiny is calling._

_Love,_

_Luna Lovegood-Longbottom_

Neville brought the parchment to his tear-streaked face. He took in the scent of her one last time and through his heartbreak, and through his tears, he began to smile—he began to be free as she requested, he would always honour her wishes, through thick and thin, through better and worse.

He knew the moment he met Luna that he couldn’t keep her forever, but he was grateful for what he got. She had taught him to see the world through her eyes, and it was glorious.

He knew when they decided to marry and she changed the vows from the common promise of forever to a more realistic, until our time runs out that he had to take her as she came and release her when she had to go.

And that time was now.

He pressed his lips to the letter, and just as he did so it dissolved into thin air and floating in its wake was a thin blue paper moon, the colour of her eyes. 

He would keep it forever, and be reminded that while she may be far, they were always under the same moon.

Him and his Luna.


End file.
